The Unexpected Task
by SevFanFictions
Summary: It's common knowledge Professor McGonagall taught Gryffindor house the art of waltzing in light of the Triwizard Tournament. This would make it safe to assume that Professor Snape instructed the Slytherins. . .


**Disclaimer:**  
I own nothing created and or mentioned, by J.K. Rowling, in the books of Harry Potter. This story is a product intended for enjoyment not financial gain.

**Rating: K+  
**Very mild language, extraordinary small sexual reference

* * *

It was the Christmas season at Hogwarts again. Which meant the castle was filled with the welcomed ease and celestial merriment of Noel. Magnificently decorated trees adorned the corridors while wreaths hung from every rafter. The grounds were infected by snow, the halls littered with holly, scented candles, and poinsettia plants. The ghosts of the castle roamed in song while the students exchanged gifts and basked in anticipated festivity. Snowflakes danced behind windows, filling the glasses with condensed frost, causing the panes to drip elegantly. Yes, the Christmas season was upon them, pervading through everyone like a rushing blizzard (a much needed break from the intense atmosphere brought on by the Triwizard Tournament). However, the delights of the holidays temporarily evaded at least one particular party. While the majority of the Hogwarts populace were out enjoying themselves in the snow or drinking steaming cups of hot cocoa, the professors were locked in the confines of the weekly faculty meeting.

Professor Severus Snape sat at the end of the long staff table, back erect against the chair, hands folded before him upon the wooden surface. The fireplace, directly behind him, roared so fervently it made his back itch, overwhelming him with heat. As usual, during the faculty meetings, the low hum of jazz music was echoing from the megaphone. An attempt to bring entertainment to the absolute bore of the conference.

". . . the schedule will be cut by forty minutes on Friday to compensate the event," Albus Dumbledore was saying to his staff (referencing to a school assembly).

"Albus, I must protest! I have an exam that afternoon," Professor Prokopowicz, the alchemy teacher, whined. "I can't give a fifty minute exam! It wouldn't be fair to the students!"

Professor Prokopowicz was a porky man, standing at a mere five feet and four inches. His cheeks, round as quaffles, seemed to hold up his oval glasses which poked from beneath his ill maintained mop of brown hair (which was usually wet with perspiration). His bulbous stomach appeared to be rock solid, like an installed shelf for which he could rest objects upon.

"Surprise, surprise, Prokopowicz has something to complain about," Minerva McGonagall whispered to Severus who twitched his mouth into a minuscule grin. It was true, that man always had to bicker about one thing or another.

"Then I suggest you move your exam to a later date," Professor Dumbledore said calmly, his hands folded delicately in front of him.

"But I give my exam every Friday. It would throw off my routine, set me back for only Merlin knows how long!"

"For Merlin's sake, Philip! Just change the damn date of your test!" Septima Morales, the arithmancy professor, enjoined, her arms crossed over her chest.

Professor Morales was a Brazilian women with a quick and witty disposition. She held no patience for the obtuse or ignorant (a woman after Severus' own heart) and valued inner strength and knowledge above all other venues. She had straight, dark, brown hair that cascaded to her mid back, framing her tan face and accentuating her brown eyes. She always smelled of honey suckle and usually wore robes of a deep blue velvet accompanied by shoes and accessories that for ever matched.

A few teachers chuckled, Severus included, as the alchemy teacher's cheeks went red and his ears grew hot, his face resembling a plump strawberry.

"Now, now, Septima," Albus reasoned politely. "These are valid concerns on Philip's behalf."

"Hogwash, Albus," Septima persisted. "He can make adjustments, without complaint, like the rest of us. You don't see me complaining because I'll have to cut my lecture in half. You don't see Severus grumbling because his students won't be able to complete their potions. Minerva isn't bi—"

"Thank you, Septima," Albus interrupted before she became too nasty and uttered something vulgar (which happened on frequent occasions). "Philip do you think you can manage something?"

"I don't know, Albus," Philip whined, reluctant to change his agenda.

"Do move on, Albus," McGonagall urged. "This meeting can't come to a screeching halt because one professor is unwilling to make a simple modifications. The rest of us are on board."

Philip glowered at Minerva who calmly met his gaze with a small smirk on her lips. How she enjoyed triumphing over Philip Prokopowicz. All the professors did.

"Yes, very well. You and I may have words later, Phillip," Dumbledore informed him warmly. "Now, at the beginning of next term, after the holiday, it will be that wonderful time of the year for apparation lessons to begin. The four heads of houses will obviously have to attend, other teachers are welcome to volunteer their time. We can never have too many proctors. All in all, I do believe that is the last thing on the agenda and the conclusion to our conference. You are all free to go. Minerva, Filius, Severus, Pomona, an extra word."

The four summoned stopped in their tracks and turned from their departure to stand in a clump before the headmaster. Extra words were never a good thing. They usually entailed unhappy obligations to add to their already busy schedules.

"As I'm sure you are all well aware The Triwizard Tournament comes with the jovial reception of The Yule Ball," Dumbledore began happily. "In order for Hogwarts to keep up our perpetual prestige it is necessary to instruct our students in the art of waltzing. It is each of your responsibility to make sure the students in your houses become accustomed to the dance steps so as not to embarrass themselves or the halls of this school."

"Really, Headmaster, you cannot bring in a dance instructor of some kind?" Severus inquired. He was completely adamant about not dancing one bloody step in front of any of his students.

"Why, when I have four perfectly capable dance instructors standing before me?" Albus asked, looking a little too amused for the situation at hand. He stood from the table, passing his teaching quartet, and walked from the room. His eyes forever twinkling.

"Yes, Severus, _four perfectly capable instructors_," Minerva challenged sarcastically, grinning at him mercilessly.

Severus' expression hardened as he straightened his back in protest.

"I hardly see what I can teach in the art of dance that a professional couldn't relay five times better."

"Ten times better," Professor Sprout interjected with a small smile as McGonagall nudged her in amused agreement, grinning ardently.

Severus glowered at the pair of cackling witches, his brows furrowed. What was this? Taunt Severus day? He hardly saw what the laughing matter was. Dancing with his students not only seemed humiliating, it seemed altogether ghastly and wrong. He was a thirty-four year old man meant to dance with fourteen and fifteen year olds? In this series of events he would succeed in feeling incredibly uncomfortable and like a complete pervert.

"Oh, do lighten up, Severus," Minerva said, grasping his shoulder reassuringly. We're only joking. I'm sure you'll make a highly elegant bat, flapping about the Slytherin common room to the gentle beat."

Professor Sprout and McGonagall chuckled lightly as Severus smiled in muted amusement.

"I can take a joke as well as the next man," Severus countered smugly. "However, while I'm flying about my common room, as a bat did you say? I do hope you're not breaking your hips in Gryffindor tower."

"He comes back swinging," Professor Flitwick chimed, taking Professor Snape's side of the amusing battle of insults. This often happened. The male heads of house against the female.

"Swinging? Please, Fillius, the age joke is _so_ overplayed," McGonagall said, waving her hand dismissively as they all left the staff room as a group.

"Yes, and comparing me to a bat is so very original," Snape countered, his mouth curling into a sneer. "Students have only been doing that since 1982."

"'81," Professor Sprout corrected.

"'81, thank you," Severus replied.

"I truly don't know what _you're_ concerned about, Severus," Flitwick chimed as they all rounded a corner. "It's me who's going to look the fool. Trying to dance with a student towering feet above my head."

They all laughed merrily at the image of Flitwick being hoisted into the air by some unsuspecting Ravenclaw, twirling in time to the music. His legs dangling about the child's knees.

"You could always hijack a first year for the demonstration," Minerva suggested.

"Why would I want to traumatize one of my young students like that?" Flitiwick asked with jest on his lips.

"The only person who's going to be traumatized by this experience is me," Severus commented as the group all started descending the stairs.

"_You_, traumatized?" Minerva asked, her vicious smile returning. "Don't you suppose that which ever student you elect to demonstrate the waltz with will be at least ten times over you?"

"I hadn't considered that," Snape replied silkily. "I suppose that has a lot of truth to it."

"Can you even dance, Severus?" Professor Sprout asked, shoving her way from behind Minerva to beside Snape. She simply couldn't picture him spinning around with some woman in dress robes.

"I have never actually practiced the waltz myself. However, I have witnessed it being performed on several occasions. It should only prove to be a minuscule challenge," said Severus (a small challenge other than conquering his emotions of classical perversion and total humiliation).

"Oh, I think you'd find yourself mistaken," McGonagall interjected, smiling ahead of her. "Seeing is much easier than doing, dear Severus."

"It cannot be _that_ difficult. It's dancing, not quantum physics," Severus said confidently. Although the small glint in his eyes demonstrated other feelings on the matter.

"If you've never waltzed before, it might as well _be_ quantum physics," Ponoma said with a delightful chuckle.

"Yes, I agree," Minerva added.

"He may have been attentive enough to pick up the dance steps from watching," Flitwick offered, allowing his views on the matter to be known.

"You've never danced with anyone either have you, Filius?" Ponoma asked as Minerva let out a bark of laughter.

"I have!" Flitwick enjoined.

"But fret not, young Severus. I shall instruct you in the ways of waltzing," Minerva said, turning at a third floor corridor that led to her class room. Two teachers followed, Severus lingered behind on the stairs.

"Are you coming or would you prefer making a complete fool of yourself in front of your entire house?" Minerva asked, her eyes glittering.

Severus weighed his options, counting his pros and cons. A daunting con: being taught to dance by Minerva McGonagall would not only be perfectly humiliating it would proceed to be exceedingly awkward there after for at least the next week. A daunting pro: he would much rather be humiliated in front of another teacher than any of his students.

"Very well, but this stays between the lot of us. No going off and making gossip out of all this."

"Of course, Severus. I wouldn't _dream_ of telling anyone about our little dancing lessons," Minerva said, the glint in her eye growing ever more prominent as her lips curled into a smile. . .

Minerva placed the needle onto the record as it sputtered and sprung to life, blaring the traditional tune, The Blue Danube, about the room. Minerva dropped her hands to her sides and smiled at Professor Sprout, who was seated next to Professor Flitwick in one of the many desks that they had levitated to the side.

Snape was standing off in a corner of the clearing, his hands clasped behind his back, standing erroneously straight. Anyone who knew Severus was well aware his posture became perfected when he felt flustered or uncomfortable. It was a quark of his commitment to occlumency and a counter attack against spending his whole childhood hunched in a lack of self-esteem.

"All right, come here, Severus," McGonagall said, holding out her hand.

Severus stared at her with such an expression of derision that she barked out in laughter at the sheer magnitude of it. She walked over to him and placed her hands on her hips.

"You'll need to be next to me, I'm not certain how you'd plan to waltz being seven feet from your partner."

"I'm not dancing with you," Severus protested softly, his inscrutable expression dwindling for a moment. "I was under the impression you would be demonstrating the waltz_ to_ me."

"Oh, don't be such a coward, Snape, give me your hands," Minerva ordered as she grabbed his wrists and placed his right hand on her waist while holding his left in her own, their elbows raised.

The two stood for a moment, staring at each other, wrapped in thee most awkward of silences. Severus' eyes found Minerva's and he was highly mortified to see the amusement that shown through the orbs. With a small step McGonagall closed the foot wide gap between the two teachers, smiling malevolently.

"Okay so the first step you're going to take," Minerva began. "Is stepping forward whilst I place my foot back, mirroring your movements. Let's try!"

Snape rolled his eyes and moved one foot forward while McGonagall moved hers back. They did that over and over again, walking around the room as if one machine made of two people.

"Okay think you've got the hang of that first step?"

"I think so," Severus stated sarcastically. _It was one bloody step._

"Wonderful," Minerva said, ignoring his sardonic nature. "The next step is a little more complex—"

"Am I going to have to take two steps now?" Severus asked, his eyebrows raised in mockery.

"Not quite," she informed him, ignoring his sarcasm once more. "On the second beat you're to step forward and to the right with your right foot, tracing an upside-down 'L' in the air as you do."

Severus attempted to follow her instructions, failing miserably. He resembled an elderly man with the shakes and appeared to be closer to falling than dancing. His awkward maneuvers elicited a hearty laugh from the two audience members as Minerva bit her lip to stifle her own laughter.

"Do shut up before you start," Severus told McGonagall in regards to her snickering. She rose her hand and shook her head as if saying 'by all means'.

"Look, like this," she said as she switched her hands to be at his waist, pushing his hand up to her shoulder. Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes over the ludicrous preposterousness of the situation as he allowed himself to be swept about the floor. Minerva, leading him around the room, tracing the 'L' with her foot as she went. "Now you try."

They switched back to traditional roles as Severus slowly, yet surely, got the hang of it.

"On the third beat, you're to slide your left foot over to your right and stand with your feet together—very good!"

She went over the rest of the dance steps before Severus and herself were waltzing, quite sloppily, around the room. . .

"AOW!" Minerva exclaimed as Snape tread on her foot for the twentieth time. "Really, Severus? This is the tenth bloody time in the last five minutes! Take off your shoes!"

"I most certainly will not," he protested challengingly. They were still pressed against one another, in a stand-still of their Waltz.

"Do you want to learn to waltz or don't you? Because I'm not going to have you break my feet when I'm doing you a favor. Either the shoes go or I do."

"Good day then," Severus replied, dropping Minerva's hands, and turning to walk towards the door.

"Solesido," McGonagall said quietly, pointing her wand at Severus's feet.

He walked one step with his shoes still intact. When he placed his foot down they were gone, only his black socks protecting his skin from the freezing stone floor. The chill drove right through the thin cotton and traveled up into his feet, making him shudder internally.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Severus snarled as he turned back around, his face contorted in irritation.

"Shall we proceed?" Minerva asked, meeting Severus' hard gaze with a twitch of her lips.

"If you think I'm going to yield to you just because you've vanished my shoes, you're sorely mistaken. Now, return them."

"I don't think so," McGonagall said, trying to hide her amused triumph.

"Minerva," he said sternly.

"Severus," She replied.

He sighed heavily as Flitwick came to stand at his side. He flicked his wand and Severus found a new pair of shoes on his feet. They weren't his usual footwear but hideous blue and white tennis shoes instead. The alteration made, for the very least, Ponoma and Minerva laugh.

"There you are, young man!" Fillius stated happily, his wand spinning in his fingers.

"Thank you," Severus said before spinning on his tennis-shoe clad heels and exiting the classroom. He could still hear Minerva's cackles. . .

He stepped into his office, closing the door forcefully behind him, before stomping to his desk and throwing himself into the chair. Reclining his back, he pressed his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, the other clamped firmly around the armrest.

He was tired. His nerves were weak and he wondered if he could tolerate much more ridiculous drollery on his colleagues' parts. Frustration glimmered within his chest, pounding in his skull. Deep oppressive pain welled within as he wished he didn't have to deal with this inane dancing nonsense. He was a professor of potions. Not a dancing instructor. Should his time not be used for more pressing matters such as lesson planing or brewing medicines for Madame Pomfrey? Anything but this. Severus' keen mind began to turn its wheels, trying to imagine an alibi or excuse that could get him out of this agitating predicament. Every idea that came to mind seemed inadequate. The reality of the situation was an impasse. No way of getting out.

The distress of humiliation cuddled into his heart as his mind shifted gears from future alibis to the recent past. _Minerva, _what an unbearable wench she was. Laughing and making jokes at his expense (a true Gryffindor). It was an experience he was somewhat used to but didn't have to put up with since his late years as a school boy. How her eyes glittered and taunted him in his inability to dance. How she had rose above and looked down on him. Such a boar of a woman. What a mortifying experience, dancing with Minerva McGonagall. While Fillius and Ponoma sat there, chuckling all the while, and watched. Damn the lot of them. How long this ludicrous endeavor would follow him was uncertain. He knew he would be hearing of it for at least the remainder of the week and well into the next. How infuriating.

Severus pushed himself out of his chair and simultaneously out of his self pity before walking through the door that lead to his personal chambers. He removed the hideous tennis shoes that Flitwick had bestowed upon him and kicked them to the wall. He approached his calendar and placed his hand on his chin as he examined the days he had to teach his batch of students the horrors of dancing. Wednesday and Thursday night of the following week were open thus he circled each one, scribbling the agenda of the appointed dates. He staggered over to his bed while undoing the many buttons of his shirt, failing to stifle a lengthy yawn. He pulled his shirt from his body, levitated it over to his hamper, and began removing his pants before crawling into bed and falling into a restless slumber. . .

"Are you going to the dance lesson tonight?" Eva Dailey, a fifth year Slytherin, asked of her boyfriend, Christopher.

"I thought it was mandatory," he replied as he flipped through a magazine, not bothering to raise his eyes from his reading.

"I don't think so. I think you have the option."

"Then no," Chris responded.

"It _is_ mandatory," chimed Allison Newel who was sitting next to the couple on the couch.

"Is it?" Eva asked. "I could have sworn it was optional."

Allison pushed herself off the couch and walked over to the large bulletin board and began reading allowed. "Dance instruction Wednesday night at 7:00pm. Years four through seven. Uniforms required. Attendance is mandatory. How did you miss that?"

"I actually never read the flyer. I heard about the lesson from Moses."

"Who's gonna be teaching us anyway?" Chris asked, still not raising his eyes from the magazine.

"I don't know, they've probably hired someone. . ."

Standing in his office, ten minutes to seven, Severus found himself nervous. He inhaled deeply through his nose and let the air expel from his lips. His mind was swirling with too many scenarios of how he was going to make himself look more of a fool than he already felt. His head was heavy with the emotions that bounded against him; humiliation; nervousness; anger. He concentrated on each one individually, suppressing them with the white fog of occlumency before his fears were dulled and his emotions muted.

The echoes of his steps surrounded around him as he made the small travel to the Slytherin common room. He imagined this daunting vibe was similar to the atmosphere of walking to the guillotine in the early decades of France. Upon approaching the entrance to the Slytherin lounge he took one more deep breath before muttering the password and entering the room where his dignity would surely be murdered.

The room was alight with chatter for all his students were gathered in a clump in the vacant common room. He pushed his way through the brigade to the large record player (the only piece of furniture left in the hall) amidst all the chaos. He plucked the vinyl from its case and placed it on the plate, turning to face the anticipating youth.

"Si-i-ilence," he droned as the room fell quiet. "As you are all well aware, we are currently in the midst of the Triwizard Tournament. A lasting tradition of dance has since been practiced within every tournament from it's very first inception. This tournament shall be no exception. Since Hogwarts will be hosting the Yule Ball the Headmaster wishes for you all to be properly instructed in the art of waltzing. He does not wish for any of this school's students to infect or embarrass it's halls with tasteless or vulgar maneuvers. Do I make myself perfectly plain? "

"Yes, sir," they all sang in unison.

" Good—the founder of such dance is regrettably unknown, however, what is known is that this particular branch of ballroom folk dancing has been in existence since the late sixteenth century, originating in Germany. The common waltz transformed since that time. For example it was once a dance of peasants in it's earliest years becoming adopted by the wealthier classes over decades of evolution. Once conducted in a two beat measure has since advanced to be preformed in a three-four signature. There are several different faucets of waltzing but we shall be concentrating on the western waltz practiced in the promenade position. Now, are there any inquiries before we begin?"

"Who's teaching us to dance?" Asked Melony Tiago (a brusque 5th year). She seemed to be the only one brave enough to ask what everyone wanted to know.

Snape grimaced internally, his extreme discomfort only beknownst to himself for his face remained inscrutable.

"I am," he responded with the raise of an ironic brow.

There was a small chorus of laughter as the chatter reestablished itself. Snape hadn't the faintest clue how they found his proclamation of teaching dance funny. In fact it was the exact opposite of funny. It was down right _not_ funny.

"Settle down," he commanded quietly as the many voices diminished. "Yes, I am teaching these two lessons. Although we are not in the traditional classroom setting all the same rules and expectations apply. You are not to talk out of turn, you are not to shirk your assignments, and you are to show your professor the utmost respect at all times. Is that clear?"

There was an ample, mechanic chorus of 'yes professors and yes sirs'.

"Now, if there are no more questions," Severus called out. "I would like to begin this lesson so that it may end quickly. I require a volunteer partner to demonstrate the basic dynamics."

The room quickly fell silent at his request. All the girls looked nervously about, hoping that whom ever was going to dance with Professor Snape wasn't going to be them.

Draco Malfoy grabbed Pansy Parkinson's wrist and shoved her hand into the air. Before she could react and pull her arm down Severus was calling her up. She glared at Malfoy, who was snickering happily with Crabbe and Goyle. While she stepped into the center of the group Snape was tapping the record player with his wand, causing the room to be filled with the sweet melody of classical music.

"Now, in order to properly perform this dance one must get into position by facing their partner. Traditionally men are the leading party therefor I would place my hand on Miss Parkinson's waist at the the small of her back."

A moment of dizziness enveloped the older man as he saw the misfortune in Pansy's eyes. If she thought that she hated this more than him she was incredibly mislead. A moment of rebellion took hold of Severus as he contemplated throwing his hands in the air and letting the blasted things figure out waltzing on their own. Was the humiliation really worth it? So many things could go wrong. Just last week he had squashed Minerva's feet to the point of her vanishing his shoes. What would happen now that he was the teacher? This was bound to end in disaster. How did he expect to strike fear and obedience into the hearts of his students if he humiliated himself by resembling a chicken with its head cutoff, stumbling about the common room, attempting to dance?

"Professor?" Pansy said, for Severus had gone quiet for almost a minute. "Sir?"

Snape cleared his throat. "Yes—as I was saying," he began, hating himself for being paused by taunting humiliation. He willed the thick fog of occlumency to reconquer his mind and continued. "The leading party places their right hand on their partner's waist," Severus hesitated before placing his hand awkwardly onto his fourteen year old student's waist as Pansy shuddered and blushed from mild embarrassment, her gaze bowed; eyes darting around the room. Severus stood for a moment, hoping he didn't look as much like a pervert as he felt.

"Miss Parkinson, you are required to place your left hand onto my right shoulder," he informed her.

Pansy's eyes continued to flicker back and forth as she ground her teeth. She slowly rose her arm and placed it stiffly onto Professor Snape's shoulder. Both, while pressed together, looked exquisitely uncomfortable and mildly ill. The crowd seemed smug and amused, as if a hungry audience viewing men fighting fervid lions.

"I shall then take her right hand and hold it up here, with my elbow bent."

They formed the perfect picture of the most awkward dancing couple at Hogwarts in over three decades. Pansy, being a about two feet shorter than Severus made for interesting proportions. Pansy's arm had to stretch unnaturally far to perch upon her partner's shoulder. Severus didn't add to the ambiance, looking more foul than usual in his absolute displeasure. The two stood rigidly together, avoiding the other's gaze, while the bouncy violin music played awkwardly in the background.

"Now, the objective of waltzing is, ludicrously enough, to achieve the utmost elegance and grace. Miss Parkinson will mirror every one of my movements. By my leading I shall step forward with my left foot, while Miss Parkinson follows me by stepping backwards with her right."

He stepped forward and was immediately stayed by Pansy remaining motionless, causing them both to falter slightly. Severus suppressed a low growl of irritation over the stupid girl. For one: she made him look a fool; two: She didn't pay attention to his simple instructions.

"Miss Parkinson you were meant to step back when I move my foot forward," he said with a small sneer, belittling her for failing such a meager command.

"Sorry, sir," she mumbled, sounding as if she had more to say.

"Shall we try again?"

Severus stepped forward to be mirrored by Pansy fluidly. The next step was one that gave Severus trouble that day in McGonagall's office: the dreaded 'L' shape. He hoped that he would conquer it admirably.

"From here I step forward to the right and trace an upside down 'L' in the air, Miss Parkinson will do the opposite."

Severus clumsily performed the step while Pansy mirrored him, moving as if a fish within water. It was obvious this was not her first time dancing the waltz and Severus was grateful for it. Since she knew what she was doing, it made the chances of him making a fool of himself slimmer.

"We shall both shift our weight, me to the right, Parkinson left, and keep each motionless foot stationary. You then slide your left foot over to your right and stand, feet together."

The two demonstrated the step, Pansy following Professor Snape wishing that she could just die instead of have to continue enduring this humiliation. Her face was hot and she could feel the blush staining her cheeks.

Severus was no happier. His mind was growing exhausted with the effort to silence his agitation and embarrassment, hints of it trickling into his mannerisms. His head would jerk stiffly as a thin film of sweat was working on forming at the back of his neck.

"Now step back with your left, I with my right. We then return to the 'L,' tracing an upside down one whilst shifting weight to the left foot; Parkinson, your right."

He was dreadfully surprised he was able to retain all this information since Thursday, six days ago. The lefts and rights, 'L's and slides. It was a simple miracle that he would have to appreciate later that evening.

"On the final beat we will slide our respective feet, my right, her left, until they are together. You then repeat the steps I have thus provided. All together now, Miss Parkinson."

Severus tried to think about other things while the two twirled around the room, the eyes of all the amused Slytherin's upon them. He thought of activities that pleasured him. Reading in the sun window, walking on the beach, brewing in the evening. Unfortunately while his mind was on the beach the crashing waves turned into violin music. When brewing, his cauldron morphed and twisted into the shape of pansy parkinson, dancing about the potions lab. He could escape the situation in his mind no better than he could in reality, the ever persistent orchestra tearing through his consciousness and disrupting his peace.

The surrounding students were the only people enjoying the lesson, watching with relish, as Pansy glowered in humiliation and Snape pretended to be unaffected. They awkwardly pandered through the common room, bunglingly switching their arms from left to right stepping and turning rigidly.

"These are the mere basis of the waltz," Severus concluded, dropping Pansy's hand quickly and stepping away from her as if she was on fire. "You will now partner up and practice the steps I have just demonstrated with Miss Parkinson, inquiries? None? Pair up."

Severus walked to the side of the crowd and watched as his students shuffled and faltered around the room to try and secure suitable partners. As he stood there watching them Severus felt the distresses of embarrassment reign through him as he slackened his efforts of emotional control. He was previously very intent on getting the dancing steps correct but that didn't make him oblivious to the many amused stairs and chuckling students watching. He was still perfectly baffled about how he allowed himself to be tied up into this mess. At least the worst of it was over and he could simmer in peace. . .Or so he thought.

"Sir?" Said the quiet grainy voice of Ingrid Michaelson.

"Yes, what is it, Ingrid?" He asked, looking down at the short stumpy red haired girl.

Ingrid Michaelson was a frumpy fourth year who had no friends and even less self esteem. Her hair was ragged and curly, cut short about her ears. Her thick glasses magnified her unappealing brown eyes to ridiculous proportions. She wore her skirt's waist band to her middle abdomen and her stockings were always riddled with dirt and snags, her sweater and shirt always wrinkled.

"I couldn't find a partner," she whispered, her scratchy voice grating Severus' ears. It was obvious she was embarrassed. Which appeared to be the theme of the evening.

"Who is void of a partner?" He called over the crowd.

No one raised their hand and nobody responded. They all looked up at Snape, desperately pleased that they had a partner and wouldn't be forced to suffer the horrors of Ingrid Michaelson.

"I need a male partner for Miss Michaelson," Severus called out to them. Again, no one budged. Severus sighed quietly and looked down at the pathetic girl. She was hunched over, examining her feet, nonchalantly kicking at the carpet's edge. Her hands were pocketed as she attempted to perfect the act of disappearing so as to not endure the agonizing torture of being unwanted.

"Everyone has a partner?" He asked skeptically, his eyes roaming the crowd for a liar. There had to be at least one! Upon closer inspection he discovered everyone was, in fact, partnered. _Odd numbers be damned_.

Severus had the inclination to ask Ingrid if she even planned on going to the ball. If she didn't plan on attending it would be pointless to teach her to dance. He imagined a girl such as herself wouldn't desire to be around the peers who relentlessly taunted her. Furthermore, he was fairly convinced no teenage boy, in their right mind, would ask her to the ball. She was an outcast and those types never set well in school.

"Very well, begin practicing then!" Snape commanded of his students.

"It looks like you'll have to take turns with someone, Miss Michaelson."

"I don't think anyone wants to dance with me, Professor. They would sooner gouge their eyes outs," she said, eyeing the happy partners longingly.

_Good grief how in the hell does one respond to something like that?_

"Nonsense," he said, clamping his hands tightly around his back in his supreme discomfort, his posture stiffening.

"Would you want to dance with me?"

Severus went rigid and wished ardently that he wasn't just asked that question of a fourteen year old wreck. He inhaled sharply through his nose, looking down at Ingrid in a contemptuous manner.

"Of course not, you're my student. I wouldn't relish dancing with any of those whom I teach."

"Oh, what if you weren't my teacher?" She inquired awkwardly.

Why was this girl doing this to him? It was no wonder she hadn't any friends. Her ability to pick up social cues, such as when she was making others uncomfortable, was exceedingly lax.

"Miss Michaelson, I advise you to go sit on that couch over there and stop bothering me with your lonesome queries," stated Snape calmly.

"Oh, right—yes sir," she said sheepishly as she turned to walk away from him.

_Thank Merlin._

"Will you be my partner Professor Snape?" She asked as she turned back to face him. He looked down at her so scornfully that she blushed slightly, regretting her prying resultantly.

Snape didn't want to dance with her. Dancing with Pansy Parkinson, in front of the majority of his students, was foul enough but dancing with two different students seemed like actual torture. His humiliation began to creep back into his person as he rolled his neck partially and held out his hand.

"Yes, come here," he said, yielding to her apparent desire.

She quickly smiled wide and almost jogged over to Snape, taking his hand gratefully. She obviously didn't want to be left out. Although a little exclusion never hurt anyone, he understood her position and longing to fit in. However, he failed to see how dancing with a professor would heighten her popularity.

"You remember all the appropriate maneuvers?" He inquired as he placed his hand around her pudgy waist and she stretched to place her chubby hand on his shoulder. In their close proximity Severus realized Ingrid not only looked and sounded unappealing but she smelled unappealing too. Like rotting onion soup and cheap soap.

"I think so," she said happily.

"Let us proceed, then," Severus ordered as he performed the first few steps in a slow manner. She stumbled, and stepped on his feet within the first eleven seconds, making Severus regret his act of charity immediately.

After twenty more minutes of failed attempts, his toes were beginning to cry out from the constant stubbing they were enduring while his patience grew extremely thin.

"You know you must actually _listen_ to the music and move to the damn beat?" He asked through partly clenched teeth, still locked in the waltzing position with this sad little girl.

"I know," she said ambiguously. He was uncertain that she picked up on his irritation.

Severus looked over at the other students to see if they too were having as much trouble learning to waltz as Ingrid was. He was mildly pleased to find them all waltzing on their own, without further instruction or assistance. It was simply. . . Michaelson.

"So," he began, diverting his attention back to Ingrid. "Move with the beat, allow me to guide you—that's it—one, two, three—very good," he stated as she began to step sloppily in the right direction at the appropriate times. "One, two, three, one, two—Really, Michaelson?" He asked as she tread on his foot with all her weight, making Severus stifle a cry of pain.

"Sorry, Sir."

"Not as sorry as I am," he said, referring to his bullied feet. "You must make an effort here, Ingrid. I'm not going to sit here, wasting my time with you if you can't even manage to remember the seven simple steps in a half hour's time."

"Sorry, Professor Snape," she muttered again.

"I will give you one last attempt but be warned. If you step on my feet again I shall not only ban your from attending the ball I will place you in detention for a month, get it together, now."

"Yes, Sir."

"On three: one, two, three—good—one, two, three—switch—backwards 'L'—step, two, three—again—one, two, three—one, two, three—one, two, thre—dammit Michaelson!" Snape exclaimed as he swore he heard a crunch beneath his boot.

"I'm sorry, Professor!" She cried as she jumped back, holding her hands to her lips.

"Your lessons are at an end," he snarled, his foot throbbing. "For all of you, this lesson is over!"He called to the rest of the student body. . .

Snape sat in his office, a cup of steaming tea beside him, wallowing in the suppressed humiliation he endured not an hour ago. His foot was perched on his knee so he could hold his damaged ankle and broken toes (Ingrid had literally fractured two) in order to fix them. He flicked his wand at the broken digits, feeling a sharp pain brandish through his leg. He grimaced slightly as the sharp pain was replaced by a dull throb as he muttered anti-inflamatory spells at his newly mended toes and swollen ankle.

When the healing was complete he reclined his head back, closing his eyes in horror as he wondered if the evening's events truly took place. Did he really just teach a bunch of Slytherins how to waltz? It was so out of character and out of pocket. Even he found slight humor in the position, although breaking bones were no laughing matter.

Damn Dumbledore for forcing him to instruct. Damn McGonagall for teaching him. Damn Pansy for helping him demonstrate. Damn Ingrid for breaking his bones. Most of all—damn waltzing for ever existing.

-End-

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**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed my little one shot. Feedback is always appreciated.


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